


THINGS LEFT UNSAID

by blackillya



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackillya/pseuds/blackillya
Summary: Illya’s dreams could have disastrous consequences, unless…...





	THINGS LEFT UNSAID

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an early work of mine. Please be gentle.

PROLOGUE:  
VALENTINE’S DAY 2008

“Pardon me, sir, may I help you?”

Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin regards the young woman, in uniform, at the entrance to the chapel. Of course, there would be security; the deceased was a former agent and many a living enemy would love to disrupt this final gathering.

Slowly, for he notices she is armed, he pulls his wallet from the inside pocket of his coat and flips it open to reveal his ID.

Her grey eyes scrutinize the yellowed photo and his current features. She smiles. “Forgive my boldness, Mr. Kuryakin, but you are still gorgeous.”

Despite the somberness of the occasion, Illya favors her a genuine smile and polite bow. “Thank you, m’dear”, he replies in what the deceased often called his ‘I don’t know I’m sexy’ voice.

She blushes. “You’re about an hour early, but you may go in. Viewing Room 3.”

“Thank you”, he replies, politely, then heads in the direction she points.  
The casket is made of the finest mahogany, the handles burnished gold. Inside, as if he were merely asleep, lay Napoleon Antonitus Solo - former partner, former friend. He rests his hand on the side of the open casket and kneels. “Oh, Napoleon, forgive me”, he whispers, desperately trying to hold back the tears that threaten to overwhelm him.

“Why, Illya?”

Illya starts, his fingers reaching for the gun he no longer carries. That sounds like…. His eyes scan the dimly lit room. “Who is here?”, he demands, anger tainting his voice. How dare someone play such a sick joke.

“No joke. Look down.”

Kuryakin obeys. His eyebrows climb into his blond bangs and he visibly pales.

Brown eyes regard him, not with their remembered sparkle, but with a coldness the former Chief Enforcement Agent reserved for the enemy. “You came.”

Illya winces at the sarcasm in the voice. Guilt fills him. “Mark told me. I....” Words failed him. Even now Solo would never accept a lie.

“What happened between us, Illya? Why did you abandon me!?”

“No! I...”

“Yes! You knew where I was. Not one call to even tell me why you were pissed off!! I lingered long enough to tell you so. Now, I must go. See you on the other side.”

NINININININININININININININININININININININININININI

ALEXANDRIA PARK PLAZA HOTEL  
PENTHOUSE  
VALENTINE’S DAY 1978

“NO!”

The scream wakes Napoleon Solo from a sound sleep and brings him, on the run, to the guest bedroom where his friend and partner, Illya Kuryakin, had been sleeping soundly - until now.

“Napoleon! Please, forgive me!!”

Solo approaches the bed with caution. He has seen what a startled Russian could do. “Illya?”, he calls, softly.

The trembling ceases instantly and Solo, taking advantage of the momentary elapse, sits down on the bed, but doesn’t touch. “Illya, wake up! It’s Napoleon”, he commands.

Blue eyes filled with a mixture of pain and relief turned to stare at him; then, Solo finds himself enveloped in a crushing hug. “Napoleon?”, the blond whispers, repeatedly, like a mantra.

The fear in the normally strong voice was unmistakable. “Want to talk about it?”, Solo asks, returning the embrace.

Illya shudders. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“The beginning is always the best.”

Illya sighs. “I first had the dream about three weeks ago....” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “In the dream we leave UNCLE; but, as far as I am concerned, not as friends.” Once again, he pauses, this time to gage the American’s reaction to that last sentence. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Not as friends!?”, Napoleon blurts out. “What the hell happened?”

“That’s just it, Napoleon. That part I can’t see! All I know is that you tried to contact me over the years, to find out why I was angry. I tore up every letter, ignored every phone call. You even came to my place of business. I threatened to have you arrested for trespassing....”

Napoleon’s throat constricts. What he is hearing is impossible. Reaching for the writing tablet on the night stand he begins to write down everything his partner said so far. “Okay. Questions; and, please correct me if I’m wrong, something that happened between us causes us to leave UNCLE, obviously without saying goodbye...”

Illya nods. “Correct.”

Solo nods. “I gather each knows where the other is?”

“I found out where you are through former colleagues”, Illya confirmed.

“Yet, you don’t contact me; but, I try to contact you?”

“Yes.”

“Right” Solo adds this latest info, then asks a question he had been dreading. “Do we every meet again?”

Illya turns away, unable to look at his friend. “Yes.”

The sadness in the Russian’s voice sends a chill down Napoleon’s spine. “Where?”

“At your funeral.”

Napoleon swallows hard. “What!?”

“Mark informs me you are dying; however, by the time I decide to make an appearance, it is too late. I arrive just as you take your last breath. 

At first, I am in denial. The realization that you are truly gone hits me at your funeral. I see myself arrive before everyone else. I kneel beside your casket, begging you to forgive me; but, you open your eyes, the look of hurt and betrayal, pierces my heart like the shapes blade. I am left with nothing but regrets for the rest of my remaining years.”

Silence reigns as Solo, once again, scribbles on the notepad. “What could have caused such a rift between us that you are left behind with nothing but regrets?”

“As I said, Napoleon, I cannot see what causes this”, Illya repeats, ever attuned to his partner’s thoughts.

“Damn!”, Napoleon swears, striking the pad with his fists in frustration. “We can’t let this happen, Illya! We’ve got to figure this out!”

“I know, Napoleon. I know.”

“Question - are we both to blame?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Next question - how many times have you had this dream?”

“Twice. Three weeks ago, as I mentioned earlier; and just now.”

“So, if you have it again...?”

“....it will most likely come true.”

Rising from the bed, still nude, Napoleon stretches and hands the tablet to Illya. “I’m going to make us some coffee.”

“Definitely black, Napoleon”, Illya replied, concentrating on the notepad instead of the American’s supple body.

“Definitely”, Solo confirmed, then exited the room, heading for the kitchen.

INKNSINKNSINKNSINKNSINKNSINKNSINKNS

“Napoleon? Are you, all right?”

Napoleon starts at the sound of Illya’s voice. He looks at his watch and realizes it had been twenty minutes since he left the guest bedroom. He is now standing on the balcony, staring out at the bejeweled skyline of New York, lost in thought. “Sorry”, he mutters turning to face the Russian. “This is just so...” He pauses, unable to find the right word.

“.... overwhelming”, Illya provides. Solo nods. “There is no need for apologies, Napoleon. We mean too much to each other....” Unable to continue, he reaches out and takes the American’s left hand in his right, his questing fingers encounter the ring on the third finger. Instantly, the projector in his mind switches on. “Of course!!!”, he shouts. 

Napoleon frowns. “Pardon?”

“What happened exactly three weeks ago, this very night, Napoleon?”

“We celebrated our tenth anniversary as partners and friends.”

“And how did we do that?”

“We had dinner and exchanged family rings.”  
“Precisely!! Now, correct me if I am wrong but, doesn’t such an exchange between two people signified more than friendship? A pledge, perhaps?” 

Still not understanding, Napoleon nods, slowly. “Okay. I’m with you so far; but....”

“Think, Napoleon! We always talk about everything - UNCLE related or not; yet, doing such a momentous event, the celebration of a friendship/partnership that has lasted longer than some marriages - we discuss dinner, reflect on our years as friends and partners, and say goodnight!!?? What about the rings, Napoleon?”

The realization hit Napoleon in the face like a Thrushie’s backhand. “Ohmygod!! We have never discussed how we felt!!”

“ ‘Bingo’, as you would say! So, my friend, how does this...” He caressed the ring which 800 years of Kuryakins had worn. “...make you feel?”

Napoleon knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the outcome of this conversation would either dispel Illya’s dream or cause it to come true. He meets the piercing blue gaze with a resolute brown one. “Courageous, Illya.”

“Courageous?”

“Yes. I finally have the courage to tell you just how much I love you - have always loved you since the beginning. I was so afraid to tell you.” He pauses, his voice breaking.

Illya is stunned. Napoleon, afraid to speak his heart?? It had never occurred to him that his sophisticated, worldly partner could be at a loss for words when it came to the subject of love. Now, the mask his partner wore, for the rest of the world to see, was finally removed. “Why were you afraid, Napoleon?’

“Do you believe me?”, Solo counters, still unable to meet that hypnotic blue gaze.

“Yes. I trust you above all men.”

“With everything?”

“With my life, my friendship....”

“Your heart?”

Now it was Illya’s turn to pause. Would Napoleon understand? Would he, as long feared, laugh at him? Illya sighs. Their future was stake.

“Tell me, Illyusha.”

“Will you swear not to laugh at me, Napoleon?”

“I swear, by my true love for you, I will not laugh”, Napoleon intones.

“Very well. My fear is that I could never please you.” //There! It was out! //

For several moments Napoleon stares at the Russian as if he’d lost his wits. When he finally recovers his voice, he let his expression take on one of mock exasperation. “Not please me!?”, he whispers, trying to sound indignant.

Illya nods, unable to speak. //Here it comes! //

“Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, look at me.”

Illya obeys the command. The gentleness in the voice, the smile on the tempting lips, and the sparkle, mixed with hunger in the deep brown eyes, gave him hope. “Napoleon......?”

“Hush, love, and listen to me. The fact that you are my dearest friend, my partner, that you trust me, that pleases me.” A sudden thought struck him. “Did you think I wanted you only for what is between your legs?”

The command tone was back and Illya realizes no less than the truth would do. “Yes”, he replies, but did not look away.

The lack of hesitation in the answer saddens Napoleon. Taking the Russian in his arms he embraces him. “Forgive me, love; I never meant to give that impression.” He pauses for a moment; then, “Since it is still early, why don’t we go back to bed and usher Valentine’s Day in properly.”

“Agreed.”

THE BEGINNING – FINALLY

NINININININININININININNI


End file.
